


Adore, Adore (Bow Down Before)

by PetrichorPerfume



Series: Rainbow Marbles [21]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Blood Addiction, Broken Castiel, Confused Dean, Demon Dean Winchester, Guilty Dean Winchester, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-27
Updated: 2014-06-27
Packaged: 2018-02-06 09:51:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1853614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PetrichorPerfume/pseuds/PetrichorPerfume
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the blind lead the blind, both are destined to fall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Adore, Adore (Bow Down Before)

Dean’s thoughts flowed in a distinctly non-linear progression, twisting and turning and doubling back on themselves and getting all tangled up until he couldn’t tell right from wrong or up from down or past from present.

 

His mind whispered to him traitorously, left and right and all around, little fragments of slivers of thoughts, all jumbled up and sticking out at odd angles.

 

The red string of _love_ sometimes got hopelessly intertwined with the black and bloody barbed wires of _pain_ and _hurt_ and _hate._ Sometimes when he looked back upon his memories, demons and monsters and miscellaneous things that went _bump_ in the night became indistinguishable from humanity.

 

 _Mine_ often fell down in a deep, bottomless pit of despair and desperation and loss in his mind, and he remembered that the first coherent thought he’d had upon awaking from death was _Mine – to protect – to have, to hold – to keep_.

 

It had gotten easier to think since then, easier to tease apart the tangled threads of his thoughts, easier to pull and pull and pull until they went taut and arranged themselves into perfect, neat parallel lines running like railroads through his mind.

 

He could go hours, days, without becoming helplessly entangled in his thoughts. He could go weeks without becoming ensnared by the _need_ to hurt, to kill, to claim.

 

And Sam and Cas were happy enough, weren’t they? They smiled and they laughed and they got along so well. They were _safe,_ safer than they’d ever been, and they’d _leave_ otherwise, and he couldn’t, he wouldn’t, lose them. Not again.

 

“You’re happy, right, Cas?” Dean kept asking in the quiet spaces Sam left behind when he exited a room.

 

“I’m happy,” Cas would answer, over and over, but his eyes told a different story, and there were tiny scars on his soul.

 

“Don’t tell Sam,” Dean had whispered the first time, and every time after, as he filled the syringe with beautiful red from Castiel’s arm and fed it into his own vein.

 

“I won’t,” Cas had promised every single time, soft and demure and broken and everything Dean had never wanted for him.

 

“Promise me,” Dean had begged, sweet humanity flooding through him, pulling the railroad-tangled strings of his mind tight and straight.

 

“I promise,” Cas had said, another scar glowing bright and angry.

 

And then Dean had kissed him and made it deeper, because Castiel understood better than anyone what it was like to become the very thing you hated and because Dean’s lips tasted too much like an apology he didn’t deserve.

**Author's Note:**

> Prompts and requests are welcome.


End file.
